Each day I come here. Like breathing in and breathing out.
It's part of my life support system now.

Some mornings my body aches to stay in bed.
But the Fort calls me up at five a.m.

The most satisfying event of my day now is
Arriving here, at the Fort, to the Sun.

The white strength of that morning star,
Half-lighting the spars inhabiting the harbour.
Glistening off the fresh paint of the hulls,
Still sleeping in the Sea.

A day such as this is rare.
The white Sun but an hour up ...
Forcing its rays through stubborn fog.

Fog ... which precedes a storm, coming from the West,
Rolling down among the boats.
Sneaking in like a cat, down the Harbour ... toward the Sun.

Fishing boats are scurrying out
To get in their catch before the storm.
Minute by minute the Fog swallows up
The Yachts and skiffs which swiftly disappear
Behind the wall of moisture ...
One by one, they are gone from view.

The Lighthouse remains visible, still,
But not for long.
Soon all of the beauty I crave each day
Will be invisible behind the Fog ...
But the Fog is warm, blowing down from the West,
And it feels good on my face,
As it blows in, like a comforting friend, to begin
My day, here at the Fort.